2000-05-26 | 04:29:10

never trust a crazy dictator. that's what i say. especially when you suspect that said military leader may want to re-engage in hostilities.

my ex-boyfriend, desert storm, was a dictator of sorts. and sort of crazy. and now he is threatening to invade my borders once again.

he's been sending out scouts for reconnaissance. speaking to his ambassador about possible communications with my head of state. making friendly overtures regarding mutually beneficial trade agreements.

bullshit to that, i say. bullshit to that.

see, we broke up two years ago. my side of the story is that he was a freaking jerk. i told him so in a couple of letters i sent him after he dumped me (since i had not had the presence of mind during our break-up phone call to defend my side of things). we had planned to "still be friends," but once i got that literary load off my chest, he cut off all ties.

one year later, i run into him at a party at the house of blues. we said an awkward hello across the crowd. later, when a mosh pit threatened to crush my friend and i, desert storm came to the macho (but appreciated) rescue and pushed back on the offending troops. the band everclear was on-stage at the time. "did you start this?" he asked, referring to the slam dancing. "i should have known." a nice ice breaker. about then the keanu reeves-looking guitarist (hubba bubba) chucked a guitar pick out into the crowd. like a guided missile, it flew in an arch up over the sweating masses and landed under the many stomping feet in front of me. desert storm reached into the frenzy, picked the yellow fleck of plastic up and handed it to me with a smile. i saved that souvenir and called it the "pick of peace." when the band said goodnight, he and i said "nice to see you" and hugged goodbye. a nice sense of closure courtesy of dan aykroyd.

cut to one year later. as in around now. desert storm tells our mutual friend about a job he thinks i might be interested in. weeks later i run into him at the dresden while watching the incredible marty and elaine croon. fortunately, i am in full military dress, so he is duly impressed. says to call him about the job. tells me i know where to reach him. still the same number. well, no, actually, i think to myself. i forgot it/mentally burned it quite awhile ago. he then hugs me goodbye and kisses me on the cheek. pretty potent gesture for a formerly pissed paramour!

you know, as much as i'm a believer in letting bygones be, there's something that still riles me about all this. it's like his nation is sending me the statue of liberty as a gift for my country, but instead of holding the torch, she's flipping me the bird.

don't trust a crazy dictator. that's what i say. oh sure, politeness dictates that i call him. (dictates. heh.) but he will never be granted most favored nation status again. you can bet your GNP on that!

<----������� ---->